


Feel Your Touch

by CapNstuff



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Henry Cavill - Freeform, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kissing, Light Angst, Massage, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Rating: NC17, Scars, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Witchers (The Witcher), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:42:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapNstuff/pseuds/CapNstuff
Summary: Geralt wasn’t used to your gentle and soft touches, but he never wanted them to stop either.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Kudos: 105





	Feel Your Touch

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to @borkingbarnes on tumblr because her post about touch-starved geralt helped inspire me to write this! <3

Geralt of Rivia was a plethora of things. He was a warrior, a tracker, a magic holder, a skilled fighter, and a monster hunter. But, he wasn’t a passionate lover. In fact, he wasn’t a lover at all. In the one-hundred years he has been alive, he’s never had a lover.

He’s had little nightly adventures with many women to cease any tensions he had. They were one singular night, the sheets pooled around him, and whoever was in bed with him. And every single time, there was always a mutual agreement that there would be no attachments except that of sweaty bodies. 

He had previously thought that emotions got in the way of things. Feelings and sentiments always get him in some type of trouble, so he vowed never to let them get to him. He always chooses to hold people at least five feet away from him at all times, even close friends like Yennefer and Jaskier. 

That is until you came along. 

You were like a breath of fresh air, light and flowing in the sunny breeze, but you were also a force that crashed up against rocks during a storm against the ocean shore. It had shocked the stone cold Witcher that you had held such an effect on him. 

It struck him so suddenly, like lightning; it was fast and hard. He thought of things he had never done so before. His mutated heart beat faster and faster when all you did was grin at him underneath the sunlight. 

He suddenly wanted to be a good lover for you, and Geralt had no clue how to deal with such feelings. He had never dealt with such desperation to be near you, such wanting that surrounded him constantly. He wanted to hold your hand when you walked along a market, laughing and talking casually. He wanted to press his face against your thighs as you fiddled with his long hair. He wanted to feel your warmth radiate onto his cool body while you read a book with your back pressed up against his chest. 

He wanted to feel your warm skin against his, basking in the sweet sensations of you. He wanted to give you everything; the desire to please you struck deep within his soul. 

Due to the lack of experience in such longing touches, he had struggled quite a bit. He struggled not to let his muscles tense when you lay a hand on his shoulder in comfort. His lungs restricting the air in them at the sensation of your lips peppering faint kisses on his chest. The strange phenomenon, however, was the fact that he loved your touches.

He loved the way the pads of your fingers ran down his spine. He loved the way your heat seeped into his skin. He loved the way your softness caressing his rough skin. Despite all of the times his body had betrayed him, he loved it.

You were reading some of your spells, trying to memorize every detail about them. For a short while, you didn’t even notice the Witcher make his way to bed. However, Geralt never got comfortable and only sat on the edge of the bed with his back turned towards you. 

Your sweet, honey-filled voice interrupted his intruding thoughts. “Why are you so tense, my love?”

He let out a long sigh, eyes flickering towards yours before fluttering down to his lap. You could tell that he wanted to say something, but his mind was betraying him leaving him with a blank stare as he twiddled his thumbs. 

“Lay down.” 

There were a few beats of silence, his back still shining before your eyes. You knew he must’ve had something troubling him even further if his ears ignored your presence. He rarely would ignore you of all people. It was as though he was incapable of it; his mind was constantly filled with thoughts of you. 

“Lay down, Geralt.”

Your tone was much sharper than before, the hints becoming more of a demand than a question. He blinked before doing as he was told and laid on his stomach. His eyes fluttered close when he felt you lay on top of him, your legs meeting the end of his back. 

His mutated heart starts to beat a little faster, your lips gently kissing the nape of his neck. He felt vulnerable as his cheeks scrunched up against the feathered bedding while your lips skated across his skin.

Your finger mindlessly started to trace a large scar, and his body immediately reacted by shivering from your delicate touches. He couldn’t help but let out a whimper as your hands caress his back, rubbing back and forth. 

Your body lifts itself at the sound. Your mouth hung open slightly in surprise. You weren’t expecting such a sound to erupt from him, more or less from the massive stoic Witcher. For a split second, you could have sworn there was a hint of blush that rested on his cheeks, most likely from the embarrassment of the sound he had made.

Nonetheless, you ignored it and continued to poke and prod at his tense muscles. Your hands worked their way from the top of his shoulders—grinding and digging to elevate the stress he was so clearly under. 

A moan escapes his lips, and you giggle, trying to dig even further into his muscles. You could tell that he felt good; his lips curled into a small smile. 

“Your hands are wonders, little dove.”

You laugh slightly, warmth spreading in your chest as a groan slips past his lips. Your hands kneading the sore battle-scarred muscles had felt like heaven. His skin burned with each touch you gave. 

You stop for a second before prompting him to roll over. He looks at you teasingly, watching as you try to lift him. He was like four men in one, so it was hard to get him to budge. Finally, he turns over and shares a couple of giggles with you. 

He lets out a small gasp as you immediately go to kiss down his chest, his hair slightly tickling your lips. On days like these, Geralt would normally wrap his arms around you and pepper kisses along your body. However, he just stared at the thatched ceiling while his breaths became shallow. 

“What’s wrong, my love?”

“I just… I feel as though you deserve more.” Your heart broke a little at the sullen look on his face; the furrowed eyebrows and teary eyes told you everything. All you could do was softly smile and take his large hands into yours. 

“You are stubborn, yes. You lack emotion more than anyone I’ve ever met, you’re thick-headed, and you have the worst of tempers.” You pull his head up to look at you. His eyes slightly widened at the burst of adoration that flowed between your glistening eyes. His stomach churned with pure glee while you squeezed his hands, “But those qualities that you always deem as negative are what I love about you. My love for you isn’t as simple as a want or desire. My love for you is by what you do and how you live. You are my life, my love. You are my stars and my sea.”

He just stared at your face. His eyes flickered between the crease of your brows, the hollows of your cheeks, and the plumpness of your lips. At first, you thought he was going to kiss you passionately, but he just held your face in his hands.

“I’m never letting you go, dove, ever. Anyone will feel my wrath if they disagree otherwise.”

“Hmm, that better be a promise, my love.”


End file.
